


In The Shade

by littlemisscurious



Series: Tom, Evanee and Belle [6]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Multi Chapter, Rape, Sequel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sequel to 'In The Dark' and 'Into The Light'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**In The Shade**

“Are you sure about this?”

His voice, low and soft like velvet to my ears and heart, breaks the silence in the car which has persisted ever since we left our house half an hour ago.

I nod, looking out of the car window next to me down the empty, dusty street. “Yes, I am,” I mumble, looking at Tom shortly. “I’m with you,” he reminds me and I smile a little before opening the door of the black Jaguar.

 

The heat lingers over the concrete, blurring the colours into an indistinguishable mass of grey and brown and emptiness.

A red double decker bus whizzes past, the few passengers who leave it at the nearby bus stop hurrying into the multitudinous alleyways leading off the high road as quickly as they can. Nobody wants to linger here longer than necessary. It’s not safe. Never has been, never will be.

_Welcome to hell!_

 

I close my eyes shortly, as I feel his slender fingers intertwining with mine. I am glad that he is with me. I am not sure I could have done this alone but it needs to be done.

_For me, for him, for us._

Gently, he presses a kiss onto my temple and I turn my head to look at him. “I love you,” I whisper, a faint smile resting on my lips and he returns it, lovingly. “I love you, too!”

 

The smell of burnt wood and rubber lies in the air, getting stronger the closer we get to the origin of it. The front wall of the house is still standing but everything behind it is just a massive heap of debris, wood, and the odd piece of porcelain from either the bathtub or the sinks. The front door is hanging loosely in the doorway, one hinge broken, the other barely holding up the remainders of the door. Naturally, the scene is fenced in to prevent curious or stupid - or both - people to climb around on the scene of fire.

 

I only realise I am trembling when Tom’s arms sneak around me gently, holding me closely to his chest while he whispers soothing, calming words into my ear. “It’s over,” he breathes, his hot, minty breath tickling my ear.

I simply nod, still staring at the black, burnt ruins of the place I spent most of my life at. An article in yesterday morning’s paper had informed me of the fire and I had spent most of the previous day and night contemplating whether I wanted to go there or not. _To finally put it behind me._

 

A man had died in the fire, the article said, though both Tom and I know this isn’t true. I’m not surprised nobody has found him those last two years lying there, beaten to death.

_By me._

His so-called friends had been mere maggots feeding off his generosity when he had been drunk, whether he had given away money, drinks or me.

 

I shudder as I think back to all these years in hell, the seemingly endless nights of fear and pain and humiliation.

Only now have I learned why people refer to sex as ‘making love’. So many years I had had no idea what they meant as for me it was one of the most horrible experiences a human being could ever live through.

 

_Surprised, I turn towards the bathroom door as it is being opened, his huge, bulky frame filling the doorway and blocking out the light coming from the small lamp in the hallway._

_I never lock the bathroom door when having a shower. A matter of safety he had explained to me once. In case I slipped and fell, he would be able to help me. It sounded logical to me back then but recently he is coming into the bathroom more and more often while I’m having a shower._

_I’m a girl growing into a woman with a changing body and a changing mind, and I feel uncomfortable being naked in his presence. Actually, I feel uncomfortable being in his presence at all._

_“Go ahead. Don’t let me disturb you,” he says as I hold the towel in front of my naked body. Approaching the sink, he starts getting his shaving utensils out of the bathroom cabinet, his eyes resting on me in the mirror._

_Hesitantly, I drop the towel on the little stool next to the shower and untie my hair before I step into the shower base. Closing the see-through door behind me, I_ _turn on the tap, relishing the warm water running over my skin. Slowly, I rub the peach flavoured shampoo into my long, black hair, inhaling the fresh scent which makes me forget the dark, grey, and dangerous world right on our doorstep._

_I startle as I feel his hands on my waist and turn around quickly, realising that he is naked as well. Trying to cover my modesty with my hands and my long hair, I look at him. “What are you doing?,” I mumble, not sure whether he can hear me over the rushing of the water but he simply smirks. “I’m having a shower,” he answers matter-of-factly and I shudder as his hands glide over my skin._

_Please, not again!_

_Shocked as I am, I dare not move as he slowly takes my hands away and brushes my hair away from my breasts. I swallow while he lets his fingertips glide over my_ _skin, stroking along my collarbone, over my nipples down to my stomach._

_This feels so wrong and yet I cannot move. My legs won’t listen to my brain as they are probably knowing better by now what he is capable of. As long as I live under the same roof there is no escaping him, no way out. I’m trapped like a bird in a cage for him to look at and play with as he pleases._

_Closing my eyes, I try to concentrate on the splatter of water on my skin, my hair, my every being while his hands move further and further. His lips glide over my exposed neck, over the curvature of my breasts until he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently._

_Under different circumstances this might be erotic, sensual, wanted. But not now. Not with him._

_I bite my bottom lip to refrain from crying as he pushes one knee between my legs followed suit by his hand, touching me in the most intimate place._

_“Don’t,” he growls as I inevitably move my hands to push him away. “Keep your hands behind your back or I’ll handcuff you again. It’s your choice,” he adds in a_ _threatening whisper and quickly I intertwine my fingers behind my back._

_The first tears leave my eyes, mixing with the warm water flowing out of the shower head onto our bodies, while he resumes his actions._

_Silent and relieved, he leaves me in the shower a while later, taking my towel to dry himself off while I slowly sink down onto the cold porcelain, hoping to wash the pain and humiliation down the drain together with the water running over my skin._

_I don’t know how long I stay in here until he turns off the main tap. My skin is red and scalded from the hot water I had hoped would bring different pain so I could_ _forget the one he inflicted on me. I should have known it doesn’t work._

_It would have been too easy._

_With shaking knees I get up and walk first out of the shower and then out of the bathroom down the hallway into my room, leaving behind a wet trail of footsteps on the wooden floor. I know he is watching me, smirking at his cleverness for taking away my towel so he can have another look at me. At his creation, his toy._

_I don’t bother with getting dressed as I lay down in my bed, staring blankly at the wall. He would take them off later anyway._

 

It’s dark outside when I finally realise that we are home, that I am safe. I don’t remember going back to the car and driving away. His arms, strong and gentle, are around me, cradling me like a child who needs to be saved from a nightmare. He looks at me with his blue eyes as I move and I can see concern in them. _Am I okay? I don’t know._

“Are you hungry?,” he whispers, stroking slowly along my arm with his thumb. _Distraction. He’s good._ I nod and he helps me get up from the bed, his arm never letting go of me as we walk downstairs in silence. Carefully, he helps me onto one of the high bar chairs before he starts rummaging around in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the both of us.

 

I watch him, his every move and it slowly calms me down, reminds me of where I am and who is with me. His head swivels round as I sob quietly and embarrassed I bury my face in my hands, the cold, gleaming silver of my engagement ring touching my flushed cheek. Tom is beside me within seconds, pulling me tenderly into his arms and kissing the top of my head.

“Honey, you are safe. You’re with me. He’ll never hurt you again,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, rocking me gently back and forth.

“I know but sometimes I wish I had died in that car crash with my Mum and Dad all those many years ago,” I mumble against the soft fabric of his red plaid shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mention/depiction of deliberate self-harm (DHS) in this chapter

“Evanee! Honey, please…,” his blue eyes look at me, helplessly and despairingly, while he tries to take another step towards me. I back away. _Again._

Traces of blood are splattered across my shirt and pyjama bottoms and there are more glistening in the faint light coming from the lamp on the bedside table, threatening to drop from my arm onto the already stained fabric.

“Please. Drop the blade, darling,” he begs, carefully stretching one hand out towards me. I simply shake my head, shivering.

 

The rush of adrenaline, which had shot through my body after the first few cuts, is long gone and now the multitude of wounds is taking its toll. I feel cold and each and every one of these wounds stings. I have to do my utmost to resist the urge to add new ones to the existing collection simply to enjoy another sensation of pain that drowns out everything else.

“Okay…what do you want me to do? What can I do to make you stop this? Tell me,” he whispers, tears pooling in his eyes. _I’m sorry, Tom._

“There’s nothing you can do,” I mumble, my voice croaky and hoarse. I look down as a tear rolls off my face and onto my left forearm, the salty drop mixing with the dark red blood seeping out of one of the more recent cuts I inflicted to myself.

 

I hadn’t been cutting myself for a long time but these nightmares, these _memories_ , are driving me back into that corner I thought I had escaped from when I escaped _him_. It turns out I might never be able to escape him. Whatever I do, wherever I go, he will follow me, be there with me, loom over me and my happiness.

It’s not fair towards Tom. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be confronted with my mental breakdowns and emotional issues over and over again.

 

“Evanee,..darling…please…please drop the blade,” he whispers again, pleadingly. I look back up into his angelic, beautiful face. His ginger hair is neatly styled and combed and he looks so very handsome in this dark suit he is wearing. His hand is still outstretched towards me, shaking a little but nevertheless persistent. A single, lonely tear is rolling down his cheek, leaving a small, wet trail on his smooth skin. _How I would love to wipe it away._

Instead, I shake my head and he finally drops his arm back to his side with a sigh. I follow him with my eyes as he leaves the room only to come back shortly after, a little red first-aid kit in his hands. He puts it down on the bed between us.

 

“I can help you bandage it if you let me. Or you can do it alone. But please stop hurting yourself, darling. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you and whatever it is you need, I will try to give it to you. I love you more than you can imagine and more than I ever thought I could love somebody. And I want you to be happy and healthy and free. Free from him and all this pain he caused you.”

He hesitates a moment, fighting back more tears and wiping the ones that win the fight furiously away with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to make it better. And I hate myself for it. I want to protect you, against all of this. I know we haven’t taken that step yet but I want to care for you in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad ones. So please,… don’t push me away.”

 

“This is not because of something you have or haven’t done, Tom. You are wonderful and gorgeous and perfect. But I’m not,” I reply, sobbing quietly. “Every time I close my eyes, he is there. Every time it is quiet around me, I can hear his voice, his laughter, his insults. Every time I have a shower or take my clothes off, I can feel his hands on me. I can smell his reeking breath wherever I go. It’s just too much…”

I stop as another wave of sobs and tears overwhelms me and slowly, I sink down onto my knees. The metallic blade covered in my blood tinkles as it hits the dark, wooden floor and simultaneously I can hear Tom letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

 

“Darling? Can I come over to you?,” he whispers after a moment, almost as if he fears that speaking too loudly would cause me to pick it up again. I simply nod, my face buried in the white bed linen which is now faintly covered with little droplets of blood.

I can hear Tom’s feet padding on the floor, coming closer, step by step. Carefully, he picks up the metal blade and places it on the windowsill, out of my reach.

 

The rasping sound of the first-aid kit zipper mixes with my quiet sobbing before he picks out the utensils he needs to attend to my wounds.

“Evanee, may I touch you?,” he asks, quietly. Slowly, I raise my head and look at him, his blue eyes still shimmering with tears. Gently, he takes my right arm after I nod and he starts cleaning the cuts, one after the other. He works quietly and carefully, not wanting to hurt me more. I watch his every move, his slender fingers working swiftly and steadily until my injuries are cleaned and cared for.

Moving to my other side, he applies the same treatment to my left arm until this one is also bandaged and all evidence of what I did is removed from my sight. _Almost._

 

“Thank you,” I whisper, not daring to look at him. I’m feel ashamed and embarrassed and weak, and though I know Tom won’t be judging me, I judge myself instead.

“You don’t have to thank me for this, my darling,” he mumbles, packing away the first-aid utensils and placing the kit on the bedside table.

“I ruined the bed linen,” I realise as my gaze falls onto the little red dots on the white fabric. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care about the bed linen. I only care about you,” Tom whispers.

I look after him as he gets up and walks to the closet where he pulls out a pair of his pyjama bottoms and a shirt.

“Or would you like to wear your own?,” he asks, tenderly.

He knows how much I love wearing his clothes as they always smell of him and remind me of him when he is gone. “No,…yours are perfect,” I reply, quietly, and he drops them onto the bed next to me before he walks over to his side and starts getting changed as well.

 

Silently, we change into our pyjamas, the regular ticking of the alarm clock being the only sound in the room, mixed with the quiet rustling of clothes. Clad in his night clothes, I drop my stained pjs into our laundry bin and turn back towards the bed.

Tom stands next to it, wearing my favourite dark green pyjama bottoms and nothing else. Slowly, I shuffle towards him, feeling his loving and compassionate but also apprehensive gaze resting on me. Without a word, I carefully snake my arms around his torso and lean against his naked chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath my ear and hearing the blood rushing through his veins.

 

Tom is alive. _He, on the other hand, isn’t and never will be again._

 

I close my eyes as new tears roll down my cheeks and he gently wipes them away before leaving one arm around my waist, while his other hand is now buried in my hair, his fingertips gliding over my scalp, helping me to relax.

“I want to get help, Tom,” I whisper after a while and I can feel him nod. “That is a good idea, my love.” Gently, he raises my chin with his index finger and thumb and I look up at him. “And don’t forget that, whatever happens, I am here, right by your side.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mention/depiction of non-consensual sex/rape with/of an underage child as well as mention of deliberate self-harm (DHS)

It’s difficult to talk to somebody about your most intimate fears, weaknesses, nightmares. It’s like stripping naked all over again, parading around my vulnerability for that person to see, to judge, to poke at. But it’s also very liberating to get rid of this massive bulk threatening to bury me underneath itself.

I did talk to Tom about some of the things _he_ did to me but he doesn’t know the whole story and he probably never will. I know he doesn’t judge me and he doesn’t pity me. He listens and accepts. But telling him all of it would hurt him too much. I don’t want him to be hurt. I depend too much on his healing effect.

 

“What have you been up to recently Evanee?,” Dr Martins asks, a friendly smile on her lips, as she starts our conversation. I’m used to it by now after all these months of therapy. We haven’t talked about what happened to me in a chronological order though. So far, we’ve talked about this and that but never about the beginning. _Never about the very first time._

 

I shift on the chair, still trying to find a comfortable position even though this is probably the most comfy chair I ever sat on.

“We’ve been redecorating the house a little bit actually,” I smile, thinking of the paint fight Tom and I had last night after finally deciding on a new colour for the guest room’s wall. “It feels good to change a few things, add my own touch to it. Tom already made it feel like home before but tiny details like this make it even more _home_ to me.”

 

The psychiatrist opposite me nods with a smile. “Did you ever have a place you could call home before?,” she asks quietly and I swallow at her blunt question before I slowly shake my head.

“Well, I guess living with my parents could have been called home but it’s so long ago and the memories are distorted and spoilt by now. _He_ made sure of that,” I mumble, staring intently at the soft rug beneath our feet.

“When did your parents die?” I look up at her, fiddling with the buttons on my cardigan, trying to win a bit more time. “I was 10 when they lost their lives in the car crash and naturally, being my mother’s brother, he took me in,” I explain quietly and an almost invisible nod from Dr Martins encourages me to go on.

“It was alright at first. My parents had left me a bit of money and he used it to furnish my room and buy me clothes. He lost his job a while after though and from then on he was drunk a lot. First, it was just beer, later on it changed to cheap whiskey and vodka.”

Again, I hesitate and close my eyes, the all-too-vivid images of these early days dancing brightly in front of my closed eyes.

“He first came to me when I was 12…”

 

_It is late when I finally put down the book I’m reading and turn off the little lamp on my bedside table. The full moon is shining brightly into my room and instead of closing the curtains, I look up at it, smiling at its big, round, chubby face wishing me a good night._

_When I wake up late at night, I cannot see the moon anymore. It has continued its journey around earth and its protective gaze has left me. Instead, I can feel another body next to me and I am scared. Not daring to move too much, I turn my head a little and see him._

_“Shh. it’s me. No reason to be scared,” he whispers and I relax. Maybe I have been crying in my sleep again and he wants to comfort me. I’m not a little girl anymore_ _but I still have nightmares now that my Mummy and Daddy are gone. I miss them terribly but I am glad that I am not alone. He is often drunk but I think that’s because he lost his job and cannot find another one. I feel sorry for him._

_I’m confused when he whispers into my ear that I should just relax and all of a sudden I can feel his hand underneath my shirt. I try to shove it away but he is too strong and his hands moves further up, stroking my skin and palming by barely-there breasts. “What are you doing?,” I ask, my voice quivering. I face the wall, as I_ _always do when I sleep, and he lies behind me, trapping me and taking away the possibility for me to just get up and leave._

_He doesn’t reply and instead he roughly pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it next to the bed. Inevitably, I try to cover up with the blanket but he takes that away, too. I can feel tears running down my cheek, as he removes my pyjama bottoms and starts touching me down there. I don’t want that!_

_“If you scream, my little one, you will pay for that, do you understand?,” he growls into my ear and, scared as I am, I nod, still sobbing quietly. “Alright. Now, be a good girl and turn onto your back.” I do as I am told, desperately trying not to look at him. He is naked as well and despite the moon having moved on, it’s light_ _enough in my bedroom for me to see his erection. I know what that means, we just talked about all of this at school. But I am too young, I know that. And he knows it, too._

_He just doesn’t care._

_I whimper as his hand moves between my legs, pushing my thighs apart, and in the corner of my eye I can see him smirk mischievously. I can feel him touching me, stroking me, and when he finally pushes a finger inside of me, I bite my lip so as not to cry out loud. My tears feel hot on my flushed skin as he moves in and out,_ _watching my every reaction. Oh please let it end!_

_But this is just the beginning, as he soon after lies down between my legs, forcing himself on me, ignoring my pleas and cries and whimpers and the blood covering the previously white sheets underneath me._

_I will never forget the night where my all-too-realistic nightmare began!_

***

“So, have you thought about what you would like to do?,” he asks with a smile while taking a seat on the sofa next to me after he picked me up from the doctor’s office. A little shyly, I play with the hem of my sleeve before I answer him. “I’d like to study,” I mumble, biting my lip nervously.

Gently, he takes my hand in his, letting his thumb glide over my skin carefully. “And what would you like to study?” Again, I hesitate for a moment. “I’d like to study creative writing. But maybe that’s just a silly idea,” I shrug my shoulders but he shakes his head instantly. “No, that’s a fabulous idea! We should look into that straight away. Or did you do that already?”

I chuckle slightly as he appears to be just as excited about it as I am. “What?,” he grins sheepishly. “Nothing. You’re just cute when you’re so enthusiastic,” I grin and he pulls me gently closer to himself. “I just want you to be happy, my dear,” Tom whispers against my hair and I smile, closing my eyes, while his fingertips glide slowly along my arm. “I know. And I will be thanks to you,” I mumble, turning my head up to look at him.

“You saved my life, Tom. I am forever grateful for that,” I add, quietly, and his bondi blue eyes glimmer softly in the afternoon sun pooling in through the conservatory roof. Lovingly, he presses his thin, tender lips to my forehead.

 

“Sometimes I feel as if I’m not doing enough,” he mumbles almost inaudibly and I crease my forehead in confusion. “I shouldn’t have let any of this happen.” Tracing the fading scars on my forearm, his fingertips glide like feathers over my skin. “I should be able catch you before you fall,” he adds softly before his voice cracks as he struggles to choke back tears. 

“Not a single one of these scars is your fault, Tom. You are gentle and loving and perfect. It’s me who is flawed,” I breathe, sitting up to look at him properly. “I thought I was strong enough to go back there and close this horrible chapter of my life but I wasn’t and for a moment I forgot what a wonderful life I have now. What a wonderful fiancé and how loved I am. It was a moment of weakness but I want to work on it. I want to get better. For you, for me, for us,” I manage to say, gently taking his hand in mine, placing it on my stomach.

 

_“For her.”_


	4. Chapter 4

_A little nervous, I check the table setting again, fumbling with the cutlery and plates even though they are all perfectly in place. The oven alarm demands my attention shortly after and I check on the roast dinner after looking at the clock. He should be home soon after a long day of interviews as he told me this morning._

_It’s been four weeks now since THAT night, four weeks since he carried me home and gave me a place to stay. Turning off the oven, I walk over to the downstairs bathroom, checking my reflection and smoothing down the fabric of my skirt and blouse. Seeing myself in clothes like this is still something I have to get used to but I like it. A lot._

_What I like most about it, is the fact that he doesn’t have any expectations towards me. He doesn’t want me to work for it, pay for it, make up for it in any way. He helps me simply because he wants to. And because he can._

_Hearing the key turn in the lock, makes me turn around a little too fast while my heartbeat increases slightly. My first reflex is_ _still to run for cover, to shut down emotionally until I realise that I’m not with him anymore, no longer in this house. I let go of the breath I did not know I had been holding as Tom’s smiling face appears in the doorway._

_“Hi, how are you? Wow, it smells delicious in here,” he says, leaving his shoes by the door and hanging his wet coat on a hanger. His drenched, longer curls are sticking onto his head and he ruffles through them with his hand, a gesture I, for some reason, find incredibly erotic._

_“Hi, I’m good. I made dinner, so...I hope you’re hungry,” I smile a little shyly, quite aware of the fact that despite the torrential rain outside he still looks dazzlingly handsome in his tailored suit while I’m wearing a simple burgundy blouse and a black skirt, covered by a slightly dirty apron._

_“Very hungry, thank you so much.” Again he smiles at me, widely and honestly. Motioning towards the dining room, I bustle into the kitchen to prepare the dinner on our plates. “You made a full roast dinner?,” Tom asks, surprised, as he enters the_ _kitchen behind me and I turn around, looking at him insecurely before I nod. “Oh Evanee, I love you! Roast dinner is my favourite, thank you so much!,” he grins like a little boy who was just promised a huge cone of ice cream for dessert. I sigh in relief and continue cutting the chicken. “I’m so glad you do. I wasn’t sure at first but then I thought everybody likes roast dinner so I hoped you would not be an exception.”_

_Leaning onto the counter next to me, he still smiles at me. “That must have taken hours to make. I really appreciate it. Next time, I’ll help you make it, promise,” Tom mumbles before getting out two wine glasses. “You drink wine, don’t you?,” he asks, eyebrows raised questioningly. I pause in the cutting motion and look over to him. “Well, I...no, actually not. I...I tend not to_ _drink alcohol anymore because...” I leave the sentence unfinished but Tom understands immediately and places the wine glasses back in the cabinet before choosing some simple glasses which he fills with juice._

_“Thank you,” I mumble, focusing back on the roasted bird and the side dishes. “Not for that, Evanee,” he answers, quietly, placing the drinks on the table as I join him with our filled plates. He moves his hand towards me as if to touch my arm but stops before he reaches me, obviously not sure which level of intimacy is appropriate at this stage of our ‘relationship’. “I, um...thanks again so much for cooking. I might not let you go ever again if you keep looking after me so well,” he winks, trying to brighten the darkening atmosphere._

_“Who says I’m planning to leave anytime soon?,” I ask, blushing a little as he smiles at me lovingly. “No one...no one did,” Tom_ _mumbles, happily as we sit down to enjoy our homecooked dinner._

 

With a content smile on my lips, I lean onto Tom, his arm draped around my shoulders as we sit on the wooden bench - donated by the House of Commons according to the plaque on the step in front of it - looking at the London Eye, lit up blue and forming a sharp contrast to it dark surroundings.

We had spend quite some time at the National Portrait Gallery before having dinner at a cute little Italian restaurant just off Covent Garden and our evening is now slowly coming to an end.  
I look up at Tom as his free hand comes to rest on my bump, stroking it gently through the fabric of my blouse.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself today,” he whispers with a loving smile. “I did enjoy myself a lot, thank you. What about yourself?,” I ask, snuggling up to him a little more. “I loved every minute of it,” Tom breathes, pressing a soft kiss onto my forehead, his fingertips drawing lazy patterns on my stomach.

“We should go to a gallery more often,” I smile at him and he nods. “We can do whatever you want, my dear,” he whispers, breathing a kiss onto my temple. I enjoy his little endearments, the little kisses and seemingly accidental touches he showers me with all day. Not just since I became pregnant but ever since it became more serious between us, ever since we became more than just two people living under the same roof.

 

“I’m finished with my therapy by the way,” I mumble after a while, the breeze of the river hanging in the air while the occasional couple on a late night stroll or a lonely runner are passing by.  
“How do you feel about that,” Tom asks, turning his head to look at me properly. I hesitate for a moment, thinking about my answer thoroughly.

“I think I’m okay. Talking to her about everything that has happened helped me come to terms with it all a bit more. And she also gave me advice on how to deal with the urge to harm myself if I ever feel that again.” He nods, understandingly, his hand still resting on my bump. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do, okay? I want to help you as best as I can, I want to make you feel safe,” he whispers and I can hear in his voice that he means it.

Gently, he takes my left hand into his, his thumb gliding softly over my modest but beautiful silver wedding band. “I know you do, Tom. And I have never doubted that for one second,” I breathe in reply and look up to him, into his shimmering eyes. “You and our little one have showed me that there is so much to be grateful for, so much that’s worth living for, worth staying healthy for. You gave me the home I never really had, the safe haven I can return to whenever I need, the one place where I know I am loved and accepted as I am. And I love you so much for that,” I add, tears of thankfulness now spilling out of my eyes and running over my slightly flushed cheeks.

Carefully, he wipes them away before they can fall off my cheeks onto the fabric of my blouse. “And you have no idea how much I love you, my dear,” he smiles, tenderly, before his lips find mine in a long and loving kiss.

***

Sighing happily, I take off my shoes as soon as we’re home later before I walk upstairs to get changed into my pyjamas. I can hear Tom chuckle behind me as I seem to groan a lot about shoes recently given that my feet are a little swollen and I’m just not as agile as I used to be before the pregnancy.

Dropping my blouse and skirt onto a chair by the wall, I pad towards the bed to retrieve my nightclothes as Tom enters the room. The light is turned off and the only source of illumination is the bright, full moon in the sky outside. I hesitate as he stops in his tracks and looks at me, suit jacket in his hands and shirt half-way unbuttoned.

I’m quite aware of my growing bump and the few extra kilos I have accumulated on my various body parts but Tom doesn’t seem to mind. “You look so beautiful,” he whispers almost shyly, leaving his suit jacket on top of my clothes as he walks around the bed towards me. Blushing, I avert my gaze to the pyjama in my hands but he lifts my chin ever so gently with his index finger and thumb.

Slowly, the fingertips of his other hand glide along my jaw, over my cheek and temple as if they want to get to know every single millimetre of my face all over again. With a thumping heart I look into his eyes while I let go of my pjs and let my hands come to rest on his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric. His silvery eyes rest on me and I bite my lip, smiling.

“I’m still not sure what I have done to deserve you but I am very, very glad that you have chosen me as the person by your side,” he whispers, his hot breath gliding over my skin before his soft lips touch my cheek, my eyelids, my nose, my mouth. Burying one hand in his hair at the nape of his neck, I pull him closer to me, relishing the touch of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body against my skin, the thumping heartbeat underneath my hand.

And while I make love to my wonderful, loving husband under the watchful eye of the full, bright moon, I finally realise that I’ve been in _his_ shade long enough and it’s now time to remain in the sun - forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit my tumblr page http://w-is-for-writing.tumblr.com to find out more about my stories, my characters, and everything else you might be interested in :)


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